


some measure of peace restored

by helsinkibaby



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Community: 1-million-words, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3085829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank watches Jenny sleep</p>
            </blockquote>





	some measure of peace restored

**Author's Note:**

> For the "beautiful dreamer" Thursday trope prompt.

All things told, Frank was getting used to waking up with a start in the middle of the night. He'd done it once before, years ago when he and Cynthia first took Macey home from the hospital, when the merest snuffle from the baby monitor was enough to have him springing out of bed, heart pounding until he held his baby in his arms, kissed her forehead. 

He'd give anything to have that be the reason again.

Instead, it was dreams of Tarrytown and Moloch that forced him from his sleep, and on really bad nights, Macey was there too, her face contorted by evil, eyes glowing an unnatural yellow as she snapped the neck of any of a roster of candidates of anyone who'd ever meant anything to him. 

Tonight, mercifully, wasn't one of those dreams. Just the regular Horsemen of War type dream, the world burning around him as Frank wielded a sword in his defence. Which of course brought back other memories, memories that were all too real. 

A movement from beside him brought him back to himself, had him turning his head in the dim early morning light of the room. For a moment, he thought he'd woken her, but Jenny slept on, her breathing deep and even. He considered the possibility that she was merely pretending before dismissing it; that wasn't Jenny's style, he knew that from experience. If she'd heard him, she'd be sitting up in bed beside him, arms around him, talking him down, letting him vent, whatever he needed. 

A smile came to his lips unbidden because what he needed, what he always needed, was her.

Only her. 

As if she knew he was looking at her, she frowned in her sleep, shifted closed to him, turning her head in his direction to afford him a glimpse of her long curls fanning out over the pillow. Memory of how those curls felt against his skin surged through him, had him reaching out to push some tendrils back from her temple, letting his fingers move through her hair. His touch had her shifting again and he fancied her lips twitched in what could have been a smile. 

She was a beautiful woman, Frank knew, but especially beautiful like this, when the scars and memories of childhood and the threat of imminent apocalypse weren't at play. When her face was relaxed and her frown banished. When she wasn't Jenny Mills, ex-con, ex-mental patient, sister of a Biblical Witness.

When she was just Jenny. 

His Jenny. 

Slowly, carefully, he eased himself back down so that he was lying beside her, facing her. His arm slid around her waist, touched the smooth skin of her back and he leaned forward, brushing a kiss over her forehead. 

Then he closed his eyes and was soon back asleep, some measure of peace restored. 


End file.
